And Really Bad Eggs
by Vongchild
Summary: Pirate related mischief seems to come naturally for William Turner the Third and Sparry Tate, otherwise collectively known as the scourge of the Tortuga gutters. This is a series of one shots documenting their adventures. Post AWE
1. William Turner, You're a Liar

Hi, Vongy here! This is a silly little bunny that bit me. The story will be in one-shots all set around the same time and in one continuity, but otherwise unrelated. There's not really an overarching plot.

A little background: Sparry Tate is my all-purpose borderline-Mary-Sue POTC OC. What's she doing in this continuity? One of my friends suggested it. Anyone who is familiar with her backstory, it still stands aside from her year of birth. Even if you don't know it, though, it probably won't be an issue. I don't mean to explore it.

WARNING: CONTAINS AT WORLD'S END SPOILERS. READ RESPONSIBLY.

If you enjoy this first chapter, please leave me reviews. I'm not sure how much I'll continue this, so it might be based on reader response.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. In fact, only Sparry is my intellectual property. I'm not making any money off this, so don't shoot/sue/whatever.

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure One: **_** William Turner, You're a Liar**

"I don't care how many times you say it! I'm not fool enough to believe your da' really is captain of an honest to goodness ghost ship." Clearly, the girl meant for that to be the last word of the argument, because she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest and walked faster. Anyone without a death wish would have probably given up there, but her slightly younger companion persisted.

"But Sparry! He is! Mum told me so!" he called, jogging slightly to match her strides. The bane of the Tortuga gutters was not amused by his attempts at verbal mutiny.

"There's no such thing," she snorted indignantly, climbing up onto a barrel. "Your da' got lost on the way to Panama."

"My da' sails to the end of the world," replied the boy.

"No such place," objected Sparry, inspecting the sole of her shoe for rocks. "Will Turner, you're a liar. The world's round."

"There's a big waterfall at the end of the world," insisted Will. "It leads to the land of the dead."

"Well, going over a big waterfall would kill anyone. Doesn't prove a thing." Sparry hopped down and continued walking, momentarily halting to pull a spyglass out of a pouch on her belt and look up and down the street.

"Ever seen a green flash? It happens whenever—"

At that point Sparry cut him off. "Stories made up by scurvy old men," she shrugged. "You can see things that aren't really there if you get too much salt." She dropped back to walk beside him, eager to end this nonsense, and draped an arm around his shoulder. "Y'see, Will? You an' me, we're not too different. We both got missin' pirate da's, 'cept you know who yours is, an I don't know who mine is. But y'know how we're the same? We've never met 'em."

"He can only come ashore once every ten years," objected Will. "Or he'd be here more. Yours just doesn't care."

Sparry shrugged, still not amused. "Davy Jones eats liars for dinner."

"Davy Jones is dead. My dad's got his job."

"Didn't I tell you to stop lying?" snapped Sparry.

"I'm not lying!" exclaimed Will, so loud it was almost a shout.

"So prove it!" she answered, her tone all female fury in miniature. "Prove to me that your da's captain of a ghost ship and that he killed Davy Jones and that he can only come ashore once every ten years."

"Well, I can't prove it," conceded Will.

"Hah! I hope Davy Jones eats you, just to prove he's still alive."

"But mum does have Da's heart in a box," he continued brightly. "It's still beating."

Sparry looked astonished. "Now this I gotta see."

After about an hour of searching the Turner residence, you Will conceded, "I think Mum took it with her when she left this morning."

"Or maybe," replied Sparry, inspecting an oriental tapestry, "It doesn't exist because you're a liar, William Turner!" She rounded on him, holding up a silver spoon for emphasis. Will looked at her for a few moments before bursting out laughing.

"That's about the most non-threatening piece of silverware I've ever seen," he admitted between giggles.

"It would have worked better with a butter knife," agreed Sparry, looking for one. She came up with a pair of decorative chopsticks. "Hey, I don't understand, how'd your mum get to be pirate lord of the orient, of all places?"

"It's got something to do with Davy Jones and the previous pirate lord of the orient," began Will.

"Davy Jones eats liars," warned Sparry, sensing another far-fetched tale, "And you're still a liar, William Turner."

"Fine," shrugged the boy, forcefully taking the chopsticks and spoon from Sparry and putting them back in the case. "Keep not understanding."

Sparry frowned and considered that maybe Will was telling the truth. After all, it usually turned out that he was and that she had only suspected him of lying because she was, simply by nature, a habitual liar. "So, supposing I decide to believe your da' really is captain of a ghost ship?"

"What made you change your mind?" asked Will, straightening the tapestry she had rumpled earlier.

"You're usually right," she admitted. "And I'm usually wrong." For example, pocketing the coins on the table would be wrong, as she had learnt the first time she visited the Turner residence and got caught doing so. She'd never know Will's mother could be so scary. But then again, the woman was the pirate lord of the orient, and that had to mean something. "But supposing!"

"Then that's the end of the discussion. What's your da' do?"

"I dunno. Lies on a beach drinking rum. How am I supposed to know? I don't even know who he is. My mum doesn't even know who he is."

"You could've made something up," shrugged Will.

"I could've," agreed Sparry as they left the house. "But then again, Davy Jones eats liars."


	2. Sparry Tate, You're a Thief and a Liar

Hi, guys! I'd like to thank you all for such a warm response (by my standards, anyway) to chapter one. So, as promised, here's another one for you. I'll be taking a two-month hiatus later in June to go to camp, but I'll try to have a few more up before I do.

As usual, I don't own POTC but Sparry is mine and I would prefer if you didn't steal her (she tends to bite, kick, and scratch.) I'd prefer if you didn't steal the text of my stories, either. And no, I'm not getting paid to do this.

And I'm rather sorry about all the typos at the end of the last chapter. I didn't know how FFN reads formatting. It won't happen again.

…**And Really Bad Eggs,,,**

_**Adventure Two: **_**Sparry Tate, You're a Thief **_**and**_** a Liar**

In all honesty, the puddle never had a chance and it should have said its prayers the moment it formed. After all, a large mud puddle in the middle of the street was just begging to be stepped through by all manner of animals, carts, and people. And running youngsters bent on the biggest splash they could get.

"We're devils!" shouted Sparry Tate, one half of the duo known as the scourge of the Tortuga Gutters. Stomp.

"And black sheep!" replied young Will Turner, the other half of the duo who wasn't sure he deserved the title. Lighter stomp.

"And really bad eggs!" laughed Sparry. Big stomp. Even if Will didn't deserve the title, Sparry was eager to prove that she did.

"Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!" sand Will. Little stomp. The puddle sloshed around Will's boots. It liked this lad. He had mercy. Sparry looped an arm around Will's and pulled him in a circular dance. They finished the verse singing together.

"Yo ho, yo ho! A pirate's life for me!" A passerby tossed them a coin but it sank into the puddle. Sparry bent down and picked it up after some searching.

"Thank you, sir!" she called. Turning to Will, she said, "What other songs can we sing?"

"We're not done with this one yet," he protested.

"Yes we are. That was the last verse."

"There's another one."

"I don't know it. Why don't you sing it?" suggested Sparry.

"I liked singing better when you were singing with me," reasoned Will. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to sing the next verse.

"Aye, I'll sing the 'drink up, me 'earties' bit." She slapped Will on the back. "Sing."

Will sighed. "We're beggars and blighters and ne'er-do-well cads," he sang, trying to sound enthusiastic about it.

"Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!" chanted Sparry, who had the enthusiasm Will was trying to fake.

"Aye! But we're loved by our mommies and dads!" sang Will, cringing. Sparry opened her mouth to sing the refrain but stopped short.

"Well, that's a dumb way to end the song," she said, stomping through the puddle. Will was quick to follow. "My parents don't love me. Does that mean I can't be a pirate?"

"I'm sure it's just like, a figure of speech, or something," floundered Will. "There's lots of pirates whose parents don't love them."

Sparry, who couldn't think of any, shook her head. "Lots of pirates with dead parents," she sniffled. "But their parents must've loved 'em at some point." She sniffed. Will could see the situation quickly deteriorating, but had no idea what to do about it. "An' my parents don't love me."

Will became keenly aware that if Sparry, one half of the scourge of the Tortuga gutters, was going to throw a fit, he'd prefer she do it somewhere where it didn't make him look guilty and where after the fact it wouldn't impact her reputation. "Come on, Sparry, not in the street," he hissed, trying to lead her away. Sparry shook him off and took off running in the opposite direction.

That could have gone better, thought Will as he picked up the chase. He found Sparry perched on a barrel a few alleys over, a half-empty bottle of rum in her hands.

"Were you drinking that?" he asked accusatorially.

"Maybe," shrugged Sparry, who was crying softly because apparently you couldn't be a pirate if one of your parents resented you and the other didn't know you existed. "Here, have a sip." She passed the bottle to Will, who uncorked it and took a mouthful…

…Which he spat back out almost immediately. "Nasty stuff," he sputtered, wiping his mouth and handing the bottle back.

"It's an acquired taste," shrugged Sparry, brushing a few strands of limp brown hair away from her face. "I nicked it from Mum's bar."

"Sparry Tate," proclaimed Will with a slight laugh, "You're a thief."

"Aye," said Sparry, cheering up noticeably.

"So, you've acquired a taste for rum?" he asked.

"Yep," nodded Sparry, taking a sip. She spat it out as well. "No, actually."

"So you're a thief and a liar," accused Will. Sparry nodded. "Maybe the song's not so much a set of rules for being a pirate as it's some guidelines," considered Will, climbing onto a barrel.

"Meant to be broken!" chimed Sparry, tossing the bottle away. It shattered against the far wall. She laughed. Obviously, her mood had improved greatly from earlier. Will sighed. Disaster averted. "Hey, we're going to be pirates together, right?" Sparry asked.

"Aye!" agreed Will. "Fearsome pirates!"

"Immortal pirates! Sail the seas forever!"

"Mum's got stories about immortal pirates. It never ends well."

"Are you saying you wouldn't want to be an immortal pirate?" asked Sparry.

"I might be," shrugged Will. "I mean, Mum's friend Captain Hector was an immortal pirate once. He turned into a skeleton at night. An' my da's an immortal pirate, and he can only come on land once every ten years."

"Does this have to come back to your da'? Always?" Frankly, Sparry was getting tired of hearing about Will's father unless he would tell her the whole story. "I'm gonna call you a liar again if you keep it up."

"Better to be a liar than a thief and a liar," retorted Will. "At least I know it's true."

"Pirate."

"Look who's talking."

The duo collectively known as the scourge of the Tortuga gutters collapsed into giggles.

"Hey," interrupted Sparry as she regained control of herself, "When we're pirates, who gets to be captain?"

At the time, neither had an answer.


	3. Sparry Tate Needs Some Mothering

Here's a third vig. If you enjoy, please take time to leave a few kind words.

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC, even if I wish I was part of it, and I certainly am not making any money whatsoever by writing this.

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure 3: **_**Sparry Tate Needs Some Mothering**

The collective scourge of the Tortuga Gutters, normally known as Will Turner the Third and Sparry Tate, had struck gold. Well, not literal gold. Figurative gold. Figurative gold that very well might lead to literal gold, though, so it was all good. Earlier that day they had found an abandoned fishing dingy still in seaworthy shape and now they were pouring over Will's mother's map of the island of Tortuga.

"I think there's a cave there I heard of once," Sparry said, pointing to an inlet on the far side of the island. "The smugglers used to hide stuff there. Some men in mum's bar were talking about going and finding it."

"How long ago was that?" asked Will, reading the key on the map to figure the distance between the bay and the cave.

"Um, week before last," answered Sparry, looking crestfallen. "It's probably empty now."

"It's too far away to get to in the dingy, anyway," shrugged Will.

"What are you two up to?" asked a third person that the two children were previously unaware was even in the room. Sparry coughed nervously as she watched Will's mother, otherwise known in more dignified circles as Captain Elizabeth Turner, fold up the sea chart she had been hiding behind. Now why hadn't that looked fishy before?

"Nothing," said Sparry quickly. "We're not up to anything. Just looking at maps." Technically, that wasn't lying. That was, after all, what they were doing. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"We found an old dingy today, mum," announced Will. Sparry rolled her eyes.

"You're not supposed to tell _her _that," she said, banging her palm against her forehead.

"I wasn't?" Will asked, looking curiously at Sparry.

"No, you weren't," Sparry replied, "But that's ruined now."

"Oh," said Will. "Mum? Can me and Sparry take our dingy out exploring tomorrow?"

"First of all," began Elizabeth, setting her map back on the pile it had come from, "The phrase you are looking for is 'Sparry and I', not 'me and Sparry,'"

"Okay, can Sparry and I take our dingy out tomorrow? Please?"

Elizabeth looked like she was considering it, and the children felt a glimmer of hope. "Yes," she said finally, "But only because you asked so politely."

"What do pirates need manners for?" scowled Sparry.

"Oh, they're rather useful for talking your way out of trouble," replied Elizabeth, who the girl knew spoke from experience. That shut her up rather quickly.

Their plan approved, Sparry and Will went back to plotting their adventure. Finally, they settled on a cove not too far from the main harbor. After agreeing to meet at the docks the next day, they shook and Sparry began to roll the map back up. Elizabeth couldn't help but notice her fingers left a faint trail of grime wherever they touched.

"Sparry," she asked, "When was the last time your mother made you bathe?"

Sparry looked dumbstruck.

"A month ago?" asked Elizabeth

Actually, two months, thought Sparry, but let's go with that. "I think so."

"Stay right there," ordered Elizabeth, who stepped out into the hall and called for the maidservant to draw up a bath. Sparry scowled.

"I'm not taking a bath. I'll get sick." Last time she had taken a bath, she'd been sneezing for a week. She did not care to repeat the experience. She mouthed the words "help me" in Will's general direction. He shook his head helplessly.

The next thing Sparry knew, she was being ushered off to a washroom somewhere and Will was being shooed off somewhere else entirely.

"Why do pirates need baths?" she asked as she made her best effort to make getting her out of her salt-stiffened clothes an impossible task in and of itself. "We just wind up back in the water anyway."

"There's a little thing called personal hygene," replied Elizabeth, who was presently occupied with getting Sparry's hair out of its nearly perpetual ponytail. She paused and called out to the maidservant to find some scissors.

"What're you gonna do with those?" Sparry asked warily as she lost the battle with her clothes and was dunked unceremoniously into a tub of steaming water. "Yeowch!" she exclaimed, "Water's not supposed to be that hot!"

The maidservant came in with the previously requested scissors and was given Sparry's clothes and the instruction that they be washed and scrubbed thoroughly. Wielding the scissors and a comb, Elizabeth began to work through the girl's now sodden hair.

"Hey, I _like_ it tangled like that," protested Sparry as a cluster of knots was cut out. She continued to protest loudly every time the comb snagged on another proto-dreadlock. Looking ruefully down at the growing pile of hair on the floor, she claimed, "I'm gonna be bald if you keep it up!" However, she didn't dare struggle as the scissors were dangerously close to her ear.

When what looked to be an entire dreadlock fell to the floor, Sparry had had it.

"Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it!" she wailed, pulling away.

Miraculously, Elizabeth stopped, ran the comb through Sparry's hair again, seemed satisfied enough, and took up a rag and a bar of soap with which to scrub the girl's arms. Immediately, the protests began again.

"That hurts!"

When it became clear that one did not become pirate king by relenting every time someone claimed whatever you were doing to them hurt, Sparry gave up and instead stared down at the rapidly cooling bathwater, now dark with accumulated dirt and salt that had, she supposed, been congealed to her body until half an hour ago.

"Is this normal 'mother' behavior?" she asked. It certainly wasn't normal pirate behavior, after all.

"No," shrugged Elizabeth, "I scrub my crew members on a regular basis."

Sparry turned around and gave her a wide eyed stare. Was the woman mad?

"I suppose you're too young to understand sarcasm," the woman sighed.

"So, you don't really do that?" asked Sparry, just to be certain.

"Of course not." Laughing, Elizabeth got up and brought Sparry a towel.

"Where are my clothes?" Asked Sparry with a frown as she got out of the tub and pulled the towel around herself.

"On the line drying," came the answer.

Then Sparry was left alone, sitting on a stool, wrapped in a towel, in one of the nicest houses in Tortuga. And all she could think of as she stared at the scrubbed-clean skin of her hands, and feet, and arms, and shoulders, was how nice it would be to have a mother who actually bothered to care.


	4. William Turner has Mutinous Thoughts

I lied. It goes in order and it does have some semblance of an overarching plot.

Disclaimer: I would never dream of stealing from Disney. Think of it as borrowing. I'm not making money on the use of their characters. Since I'm not stealing from Disney, how's about you don't steal from me? The official characters and the universe are Disney, but the words on this page and the character Sparry Tate are mine. Neither enjoys being kidnapped, so why don't you leave them right here with me?

As usual, if you enjoy or have anything to say, leave me a review. I try to respond to every one I get. Flames will be dealt with wittily. The response has been really good so far, and I'm really appreciative to every single one of you who has helped me get 300+ views!

Interesting fact: Sparry scores a 40 on most Mary Sue litmus tests. This has to do with a personal history I have for the character and I don't feel like telling you exactly why she scores so high.

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure Four: **_**William Turner Has Mutinous Thoughts**

"What happened to your hair?" asked Will when he first saw Sparry on the morning of their expedition. Her usual tangled rat's nest of salt-stiffened waves and dreadlocks had been reduced to a neatly combed braid.

"Your mother happened to my hair," replied Sparry sourly, climbing into the dingy and beginning to rig the sail. "What's the weather like for sailing today?"

"Sea's mostly calm," said Will, climbing in behind her and producing a child-sized compass from somewhere on his person. Sparry didn't know where, just that his clothes were riddled with hidden pockets. "Good wind," he continued as Sparry struggled to tie the sail down. Turning to her, he added, "Let me do that."

"I got it," replied Sparry stubbornly. No way was she going to be shown up by Will Turner, even if he did have the fortune of having been born on a boat and reading maps before he could read the English language. Finally, she tied the rope in a good, firm sailor's knot. "I told you I had it. Hoist the anchor!"

"We haven't got an anchor," said Will, looking around to see if there was something he didn't know about.

"You know what I mean," replied Sparry. He gave her a blank look. "Untie us!" she exclaimed. Will nodded and set about it. A moment later, they bobbed out into the current, the wind at their backs.

"Perfect weather for sailing!" enthused Will, trailing a hand in the water. They were picking up speed, and the dingy seemed to be holding up well.

"What's our bearing, Mister Turner?" asked Sparry, figuring since Will had the compass he ought to know.

"Captain Turner," corrected Will.

"What?" asked Sparry. "I thought I was captain. I'm older than you. I deserve to be captain.

"I know more than you," said Will. He was right, and Sparry despised that.

"Well, I think Captain Tate sounds better than Captain Turner," she countered. It was a lame excuse at best, and he wasn't buying it.

"Who's ever heard of a pirate named Captain Tate?" he asked as he steered them out into the main of the harbor. Sparry watched the docks and mighty larger ships whiz past.

"You and me, for starters," she proclaimed. "What's our bearing?"

"Out of the harbor and then North," replied Will, thinking that Sparry wasn't a real pirate even as ambitious as she was. And certainly she was not the rightful captain of their boat. After all, he had been the one to find it. Briefly, he entertained the thought of pushing her overboard and turning around, leaving her to swim back, but banished the thought to whence it came. One did not simply push best friends into the water.

Furthermore, that was mutiny since Sparry fancied herself captain, and mutiny, Will had been taught, was _bad_.

"Our ship needs a name," said Sparry, changing the subject.

"My Da's ship is The_ Flying Dutchman_," said Will, who had forgotten that Sparry previously asked him to stop mentioning the topic.

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked Sparry with a scowl. "We are obviously neither Dutch nor flying."

"I wasn't suggesting it for our ship," retorted Will.

"Oh," said Sparry, staring off into the distance and trying to think. They were really moving now, she observed. The wind was tugging at their little boat's sail, pulling them out of the cove towards open water. "What are the other ships you know about?"

"Well, Captain Hector's ship is The_ Black Pearl_," he said, "Or it might be Uncle Jack's. They fight about it whenever they're together. Something about double-mutiny." In Will's personal opinion, it was a rather excellent name for a rather excellent ship.

"Davy Jones eats mutineers, too," said Sparry ruefully. Will gave her a halting look. Where was she getting all this Davy Jones nonsense?

"Davy Jones is dead," he told her. Again.

"So, what are we calling our ship?" asked Sparry, ever the absentminded.

"I dunno. The _Mighty Guppy_," said Will. "Why don't you come up with something?"

"I can't think of anything," she answered. He sighed, thinking she was fast becoming an unworthy captain. Mutinous thoughts again. Maybe it ran in the family. His mother had told him that it was a family tradition of sorts to commit mutiny and then feel bad about it, That got him thinking that maybe Sparry was on to something with her bit about Davy Jones eating mutineers, considering what had happened to his father and grandfather. Deciding it best not to tempt fate, Will resisted the urge to push her out of the boat.

"So it's the _Mighty Guppy_?" he asked.

"I haven't got anything better," Sparry answered, drawing a blank. "So sure, why not?"

"If I named the ship, I ought to be captain," stated Will, seeing his chance to win the argument. "I found it and I named it. It's my ship and I'm sharing it with you. From now on, I'm captain Turner."

"Mutiny!" cried Sparry, but she was already beginning to laugh. Will handed her the compass and took the rudder.

"What's our heading, First Mate Tate?" he asked, cringing internally at the rhyme.

"Wait, you're serious?" asked Sparry, a look of bewilderment on her face. But she knew better than to fight him here and now, because that would most likely flip the little boat and it was a rather far way to shore.

"What's our heading?" he repeated.

"Can't we be co-captains or something?" she protested.

"What's our heading?" he asked a third time.

Sparry, while not content at all about the situation, murmured something about "Straight out of the harbor and the north."

"Thank you, first mate Sparry," said Will with just a hint of smugness in his voice. He had won for the moment, at least, though the look Sparry was giving him said she would be pressing the issue as soon as they were on shore.


	5. William Turner Is Not a Lobster

I'm not sure how it happened, but this chapter wound up being about Jack. Seriously, when I started it was meant to be much more about Will and his sunburn, but then I thought maybe Elizabeth had some friends over for dinner and… well…

…Give Jack a line and he gives himself a chapter. It went from there. Jack wasn't even supposed to be in this fic. Jack invited himself in, stuck his hand down my plot bunny's throat, and now he won't let go. Persistent little bugger, isn't he? I can't even write him that well and he insists on showing up.

He'll probably be back in the future. God help us all.

If anyone has any special requests for characters to appear, drop me a comment and I'll see what I can do. Just, um, keep it logical. No one who's dead, okay?

DISCLAIMER: (almost forgot this) I don't own POTC, and I'm not making any money off this!

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure Five: **_**William Turner Is Not a Lobster**

"You look like a lobster," said Sparry flatly. From the pained expression on her face, Will could tell she was trying her best not to laugh. Until that moment, their adventure had gone perfectly well (minus the squabbles over who was captain, of course.) They had found their destination and searched out the old cave, claimed a small sack of Spanish coins, a map, and a telescope as their treasure, and sailed back to the town at the end of the day without a hitch. (Other than their squabble over who was captain, but Will had won that.)

Until, of course, they noticed that Will had sometime over the course of the day found himself a rather bright sunburn.

"Really, you do," said Sparry. She was beginning to laugh.

"Come on," replied Will gruffly. "Let's go to my house and divvy up our loot." He tied up their boat, earlier named the _Mighty Guppy_, handed the sack of coins to Sparry, and picked up the map and the telescope.

"We had a lucky find, didn't we?" she asked as they walked down the dock.

"A good haul," he agreed, trying to keep his mind off how much his face hurt. It worked, almost. He'd gotten quite good at forgetting it by the time they reached the Turner residence. Will fished a key out of one of his many pockets and opened the door. "Come on, let's go over it in the map room."

That was one of the things Sparry found fantastic about the Turner residence. At first glance, it could have belonged to any rich merchant. It wasn't until one reached the aptly named 'Map Room' that it became clear there was something special and exciting about the occupants of the house. Mixed in with the typical charts detailing ocean currents were maps to far off and mythical places and things way beyond the reaches of any map.

However, when they got to the map room, they found the table had been cleared so that Elizabeth and several of her past and current crewmates could play catch-up. Will held up a hand for Sparry to halt next to him in the doorway.

"Are those _your_ children, Captain Turner?" one of the visitors asked with a certain hint of distaste.

"One of them is," answered Elizabeth with what seemed to be forced pleasantness.

"Is that a whelp or a lobster?" asked a dreadlocked pirate as he turned around. In an instant Will had shoved the map and the telescope into Sparry's already-full arms and made a dash for the man.

"Uncle Jack!"

"Whelp! Who's your friend?"

"That's Sparry. You've met her."

"That's Sparry? No, that's not Sparry. Sparry is seven years old and can't see over the top of the table."

Sparry would not have been surprised to find out that she turned the same color as Will, if only momentarily, when the man said that. She remembered Will's 'Uncle Jack,' or Captain Sparrow as he was properly called. She also remembered that on the one occasion she had been so lucky as to meet the mythical man, he had mistaken her for a boy and that she had run into the side of a table.

"That's Sparry," insisted Will.

"If that young lass is Sparry, I'll eat my hat."

"I'm afraid so," muttered Sparry, stepping forward to put the day's find on the table.

"Start chewing," said the tall, lean man across from him who Sparry seemed to recall as going by the name of Captain Hector. Then again, she could have been wrong seeing as her grand total number of encounters with almost everyone in the room had to only be around three or four, less in some cases. Jack scowled across the table and kicked a stool out for Will and Sparry to sit on. They climbed up and sat awkwardly, each sort of half-on half-off.

"From the looks of that haul," said Jack, motioning to the spilling sack of coins, the telescope, and the map, "I'd say you're taking after your father, whelp."

"He might be," said Elizabeth, who took the opportunity to clear away the empty mugs from the table. "Or after his mother."

"A refill, if you would," said Jack when she took his, "Your highness."

"No more rum for you, Captain Sparrow," she replied unphased. "You're lucky I let you have any to begin with."

"Aye, and I'm glad of that," he answered with a grin. "Where'd you two get off today where you found that? Nowhere too far, I hope. The sea's dangerous for two whelps."

"Just outside the bay," shrugged Will. Sparry gave him a glare but then decided that it wouldn't get them in trouble to have gone that far. "We had a dingy. A good one."

"Jack, you were going to eat your hat," said the tall pirate.

"I'll get to that," snapped Jack. Turning back to the two children, he continued, "So, you found it outside the bay. Was this before or after young William here turned into a crustacean?"

Will gave him a confused look. "A what?" he asked.

"A crustacean. A lobster," clarified Jack.

"It's a sunburn," grumbled Will, hopping up off the stool. "I'm not a lobster. I'm not turning into a lobster. I never was, and never will be a lobster. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," replied Sparry and Jack at the same time, though Sparry's statement contained considerably more repressed giggles. Will stomped out of the room. A moment later those present could hear him stomping up the stairs and then around in his bedroom on the next floor.

"I told him he looked like a lobster, too," said Sparry, reaching for the sack and the rest of their loot that Will had left on the table. "Hmm, I guess he doesn't want his share of our find." Hell knew she needed it more than he did, anyway.

"Take what you can," chuckled Jack.

"Give nothing back!" said a portly man with muttonchops from across the table. Laughing, Sparry slung the bag over her shoulder, tucked the map and telescope under her arm, and set off for home.


	6. Sparry Tate Gives Nothing Back

My spellcheck was flagging some weird errors until I realized it was reading "Will" as a verb instead of a noun. Silly Microsoft Word. And as for longer chapters? I'm trying, honestly, but this is still going to be fairly short and sweet. I'm aiming for a spot that's long enough to be substantial and short enough to be fast-n-fluffy.

I love you guys. This story has gotten amazing positive reception and readership. Just, wow. Thank you so much! I'm sorry, but this is probably the last post until I get back in August. I tied up my little mini-plot, so I can launch right into more fun stuff when I get back.

I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or the official characters. This is called wishful thinking from which I make no profit. But, er, please don't steal my words or Sparry. She'll probably scratch your eyes out and think it's funny.

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure Six: **_**Sparry Tate Gives Nothing Back**

"I thought I'd find you here," said Will. Sparry looked up from her counting.

"Oh?" she asked, pulling the coins towards her.

Will sat down. "Well, obviously if you aren't anywhere you usually are you're probably in your mum's pub."

"You're assuming things," said Sparry, who had a fair idea what this was about and would like to have put the approaching discussion off for say… forever. "There are lots of places I could have been."

"But you weren't there, were you?"

"No, apparently not, since you found me here," she answered, happy that diversionary tactics were working. At least, for the moment they were.

"So, how much did we find yesterday?"

"Twenty-seven pieces of assorted silver, gold, and bronze. And it's all mine," she answered. Well, so much for diversionary tactics. He'd gotten right to the point, possibly because he knew her too well and knew she would try something like that, but that was beside anything of any pertinence whatsoever.

"Why's it all yours?" he demanded

"You ran off without claiming your share," Sparry explained with a shrug. "I assumed that meant you didn't want it."

"Now you're assuming," Will pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "That's not fair! You were making fun of me, anyway. Of course I was gonna run off."

"That's not my fault,"

"Actually, it is."

"Actually, it's your Uncle Jack's," corrected Sparry, confident she could have the last word and lift all blame from herself in one fell swoop. Will reached over and snatched a gold coin out of the pile.

"Come on, I earned these fair and square, just like you did," he whined. "I'll fight you for them," he offered.

"Swords or fists?" Sparry asks suspiciously, knowing Will could best her with a wooden sword any day of the week but also knowing she could pummel him if it came down to unarmed combat. "It would appear we're not evenly matched."

"So I'll use a sword and you can use your fists," he shrugged. "Then we're both at our best."

"Will, think about that for a second," sighed Sparry. "If you use a sword against little unarmed me, I'll still lose."

"That was kind of the idea," he admitted.

"That's not fair," she exclaimed. "Pirate!" Will grinned sheepishly. "If you weren't gonna fight fair, why are you so worried the loot's divvied up even?"

"That's different," Will answered like it was obvious. "That's loot. And I'd naturally get a bigger share. I'm captain."

"I need it more than you do," scoffed Sparry, reaching across the table and plucking the coin out of his fingers. "It's mine, anyways. I'm not gonna share."

"I shared my boat."

"That was our boat. We found it together, remember? You just up and decided it was yours."

There was a reason Will and Sparry's fights never got past words – neither of them could come up with a medium where it was fair. Verbal arguments were the only place they were evenly matched, and then one could argue they weren't even simply because Sparry's argument, more often than not, was full of more holes than mosquito netting.

"If it was our boat, then it was our loot," countered Will. This was about where Sparry's logic always broke down. And usually, it was knocked dead by wounds she inflicted on it herself. Perhaps she realized she had lost? Thought Will, who inched his hand towards the coins. His mother had once said, after overhearing one of their arguments, that Sparry had 'barmaid logic' – that was, she used arguments to stall, and if she won, it was just incidental. If you thought about it, everything went up in smoke.

"Call it a mutiny," said Sparry. "You stole my spot as captain, I steal your loot."

At least she was admitting it now, thought Will as he tried to come up with something to counter that. "I propose an inverse mutiny," he said, finally. There! That sounded fancy!

"There's no such thing!" scowled Sparry.

"Now there is. I'm inventing it."

"You can't do that."

"Yes I can. Um, in the pirate's code-"

"Pirates have a code?" asked Sparry, quirking an eyebrow. Maybe she'd heard of that, once or twice, but never anything confirming.

"Pirates have a government. My mum's king of it," boasted Will. _Which makes me prince, _he added silently, but dared not say it because he was trying to win Sparry over, not annoy her further.

"I knew that," muttered Sparry, knocking a coin against the table and shifting in her seat. She didn't need to be reminded that her mother was doing nothing to encourage her desire to be a pirate, unlike Will's mother who was raising him to do just that. "So, how's a counter-mutiny work?"

"You give me my share of the loot," suggested Will, taking a coin, "And I make you co-captain. Evens in everything."

"I want the map," said Sparry, glad that was settled. "You can have the telescope. We split the coins." In her mind, she had won the argument – she was co-captain now! Sure, it wasn't her original intention, but it had gone over well. She'd driven a hard bargain, after all. What was a bit of gold in trade for power, anyway?

Will was happy as well. He'd beaten Sparry's barmaid logic again and gotten his loot back, fair and square. So he'd had to give up a little power, but what was that compared to coming up even and getting his justly deserved gold?


	7. Sparry Tate's World Isn't Fair

As she ran through the marketplace at breakneck speed, Sparry Tate pretended she was a fearsome pirate captain chasing a mutino

I am incredibly sorry that it's taken so long for me to pump out another group of chapters. It's only been like, what, eight months? School started almost immediately after camp and I was just absolutely not inspired to do anything but homework and fart around on Gaia. Lame, I know, but it's my creative process. One of my Star Wars fics got locked for inactivity and I realized it was time to kick my ass into gear.

This was actually more stress relief while writing my IB Extended Essay than anything, really. It's amazing how slowly I churn out 4000 words on Yiddish Theater but how quickly I can finish 1000 on Pirates of the Caribbean. Oh, and I watched At World's End a few dozen times. That helped.

As usual, I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, any of the canon characters, or locations, or even in this case the events.

Sparry, on the other hand, is mine, and I would be much obliged if you wouldn't take her without asking nicely. She'll be sue-ified in the next chapter or two, anyway, so taking her isn't really even worth it.

Supposing anyone is still reading, thank you! (There's one more chapter I've finished that goes with this one. I'll post it in a few days.)

-Vongy

…**And Really Bad Eggs…**

_**Adventure Seven:**_** Sparry Tate's World Isn't Fair.**

As she ran through the marketplace at breakneck speed, Sparry Tate pretended she was a fearsome pirate captain chasing a mutinous first mate. She imagined that he had stolen away with loot, maps, and information about a big haul and that she had to find him and get the story from him toe by toe and knuckle by knuckle. In reality, it was much less interesting. She was not a fearsome pirate captain, at least, she wasn't _yet_. She was not chasing a mutinous first mate, only looking for an absentee best friend, and along the way she certainly wouldn't be finding doubloons and treasure. More likely, she would be finding half a dozen eggs, a bottle of goat's milk, and a fish, all items her mother had mentioned she ought to bring back. The money already rattling in her pocket was not loot, it was coins given to her for that express purpose.

So, all told, the pirate fantasy was not further from the truth. But at least it made chores fun and exciting.

On any other day if she had been unable to find Will she would have simply finished her shopping list and gone home to let him find her. But today was special. Will had been going on all week about how today his father would be home for the one time in ten years. It was Sparry's opinion that this was complete and utter horse manure, but just to be sure, she wanted to see with her own eyes the man that her friend claimed walked around with no heart in his chest, commanded a ship crewed by the undead, and was all around just too good to be true.

But more than that, Sparry wanted Will's father to be made up because the fact that neither of them had one made them alike. If he really did have one that was alive, or at least alive as you could consider someone without a heart in his chest, then that was one more place that he was better than her. She could pretend her father was a handsome military commander, or a dashing pirate captain, or whatever, all she liked, but that didn't make it any truer. No one ever talked about her father – either he was dead, or he wasn't much better off.

When she stopped at the fish seller's stall to get her mother's order, she dawdled as the bulky woman behind the counter slit a whiting gullet-to-tail and scooped its intestines out.

"Have you seen my friend Will?" Sparry accusatorially asked the fishwife, as if Will was hiding somewhere among the barrels of pickled herring.

"No," replied the woman, who had now moved on to wrapping fish halves in thin paper. Her hands were covered in gore. Sparry felt sick. "His mother was here yesterday buying vegetables, though, and some meat at the butcher next door. She mentioned a picnic up on the cliffs."

Sparry nodded but felt unenthusiastic about the idea. The cliffs were a good half-hour's walk outside of town, and if she took the groceries with her Mother would be angry. The fishwife handed her the packaged fish, which was already beginning to seep blood. It smelled terrible. Sparry wrinkled her nose and scowled.

"Get that home to your mother before it goes bad," suggested the woman. Sparry, still torn between finishing her chores and going home or skipping them and going to the cliffs, made a gagging sound and dropped the fish into her basket. She'd have to wait until later to see if all this nonsense about Will's father was true.

It was nearing ten o' clock by the time she finished with her shopping and obtained her mother's permission to go run wild in the streets until suppertime. Sparry began the long walk to the cliffs, slogging through marshy coastland where the path had been wiped out, and generally getting covered in mud up to her thighs. Mother wouldn't be happy with her, and neither would Elizabeth, who had made it her business to make sure Sparry was usually some semblance of clean.

That in mind, she made it her job to keep out of site. If Elizabeth saw what she'd done to her trousers, which had been in a fairly reasonable state before, Sparry would get fussed over again in a strictly un-pirate-like fashion.

Which, all things considered, might be kind of nice…

Sparry forced her mind back to attention and dropped to her hands and knees in the grass. After all, she figured, if she was already this dirty, why care about the rest of her? What did it matter if she found a banana spider the size of her hand in her hair later?

She was coming up on the cliffs now, and wasn't entirely certain of what she would do had Will been right. Concede defeat? No, Sparry Tate was never defeated. She could experience setbacks, but never defeat.

She could hear people up ahead.

"Jones's bones," swore Sparry, pushing her way forwards through the grass. She could see them now.

Will had never lied, she realized sadly. At least, not about his father. He had been totally honest with her – that much Sparry couldn't deny from where she crouched in the dunes. She didn't necessarily have to come from a happy family in order to know one when she saw it.

She was admittedly jealous of Will (after all, who wouldn't be?), but decided to compensate with anger and frustration. How was this fair? Why did Will get a caring mother and an exciting father who actually existed (that was the important part) and she got…

Well, basically nothing, thought Sparry, considering it.

She felt like an intruder sitting there in the grass. Even if she prided herself on being the scourge of the Tortuga gutters, she was of the opinion that it would be _wrong_ to interrupt. It would be best if she just went home and pretended this hadn't happened. Will would be thrilled to tell her all about it tomorrow, anyway.

Sparry set about working herself into a right good rage and stalked off back down the hill. She tried to justify it – after all, the world wasn't fair, so she had every right to be mad at it, didn't she?

And it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it, anyway.


End file.
